Berenice and Bridget had no idea where they were going.
After the confusion of the flight from the conservatory, they had simply kept
running, propelled by sheer terror away from the grey-skinned warriors who had
murdered their former host and her gardener. With a speed you would not have
believed of them, they had outpaced all the others, fleeing deep into the manor
without ever once looking back. Only two of the grey men had managed to keep up
with them; now, with the twins’ pace slowing as they succumbed to the fatigue
caused by their large, cumbersome dresses and large, cumbersome guts, they
began to catch up. The twins managed to make it to a bathroom, panting and
gasping; as they ran through the door, they managed to get their feet tangled
together, and both ended up in a tangled heap on the floor.
Seeing this, their pursuers slowed, and began to grin
evilly. It had been a long time, a very long time, since any of the warriors
had seen a woman, let alone felt their touch; it had been a very long time
since they had experienced any of the pleasures of the flesh, the taste of food
or even the wonderful sensation of breathing. They had spent the last thousand
years below ground before Harold, the now deceased gardener for the
Tunnicliffes, had raised them from their torment and unwittingly set them loose
on the world, and now they were determined to make up for lost time, starting
with getting as much carnal pleasure as they could feasibly generate from the
two women they had been pursuing.
These two particular warriors, it has to be said, were not
of the brightest stock even when they were alive the first time, and a thousand
years of conversing only with worms had hardly improved their mental
facilities. Nor, for that matter, had it helped their ability to perform the
carnal acts which they so craved; this knowledge might have saved them quite a
lot of embarrassment, but they had no idea of the effects of their enforced
incarceration, and were lustily looking forward to their fast-approaching
encounter with the Chuffersleighs. They reached the door to the bathroom and
looked down at the heaving masses of slightly cheap material which constituted
the twins.
“Well, looks like we’ll be having a bit of... fun,” said the
first, accompanying his words with his most evil grin. It made him look like a
constipated ferret, admittedly one that had died and been reanimated by the
most unholy of magics which played across his body like coruscating shadow. His
companion merely chuckled, that low, almost asthmatic chuckle that only the
most stupid of henchmen ever perfect and unleash whenever they think they have
the upper hand. They stood leering in the doorway, flexing what remained of
their muscles, as Bridget and Berenice slowly disentangled themselves and
slowly rose onto their feet. Their eyes shone with anticipation.
The twins had led a rather sheltered life; in fact, the only
times they left the house were to go shopping with their mother, whose
incontinence and general bad temper made these excursions quite a chore, and
their regular teas with the Tunnicliffes, where they put up being the objects
of ridicule for the simple comfort of having some human contact outside of each
other. As you can imagine, the chances of meeting men whilst either cleaning up
excrement or having it verbally showered upon them were slim at best, a
description that could not be extended to the twins themselves. Their only
previous foray into this particular avenue was their previously mentioned
courtship with an army captain, a match made for them by a mother desperate to
have at least one male heir, and it would be as much of a disappointment to her
as to the twins’ when she found out as they had that this particular captain
fought for the other army, as it were. The Chuffersleighs had suffered
lifetimes of not being wanted, of their instincts being repressed and their
desires snuffed out. And now there were two almost naked men standing over them
with lust in their glowing red eyes. Their terror at their situation gave to a
far more primal emotion as years of submerged temptation all sprung forth at
once.
The warriors’ leers disappeared as they caught the
expressions on the twins’ faces. They suddenly felt very underdressed in their
tattered loincloths, and wished there was more between them and the
Chuffersleigh sisters. Judging by the looks of hungry anticipation on the
twins’ porcine visages, several miles and lakes of cold water would have been a
good start. As the twins rose to their feet, panting now for a different reason
than their recent terrified exertion, the warriors glanced at one another,
realising that a thousand years had not made them ready for what was about to
happen. Berenice took a step forward, her body trembling with her efforts to
stay in control, and the undead warriors’ nerves gave way completely. They
turned and ran back the way they had come.
Without a second thought, giving way to their Bacchanalian
urges, the twins followed them down the corridor, determined to satisfy their
needs with the first men that had ever shown them any attention.
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